Memories Past
by Jacee
Summary: Response to the TBW Awards Round Three Challenge about writing dead letters home. Max was always the strong one, wasn’t she?


DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel is and was never mine so leave me the hell alone, Fox.

SUMMARY: Response to the TBW Awards Round Three Challenge about writing dead letters home. Max was always the strong one, wasn't she?

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**Memories Past  
**_by Jacee_

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I'm sorry. I really liked you. I just couldn't deal.  
You look so much like him. The way you walk, your laugh and those eyes. Beautiful. His eyes were so beautiful.  
Sometimes I forget and then I see you. Poking around, messing my life up.  
I always liked you. Back when we were in our bunks, you used to tell those stories. I've never forgotten. You did it just for me. Nobody else. It made me feel safe, happy.  
Ben. I gave you that name. You pretended to like it, and then Zack wouldn't let you change it.  
Ben, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had to. Didn't I? They fixed Brin. Why did I do it? Why? Why? Why? You were special. I had no right to do it.  
But then you came back. You haunt me. I have dreams of you lying there on the ground. Some days all I can see is your face. And when I can't, you are still there. Talking, laughing, poking, you don't belong.  
Are you trying to punish me? There are so many faces now. I see them all the time. Tinga hanging in the green air. I killed her. Logan, the touch of death because I kissed him. Zack, he died for me. And I went and killed him again. Eva, she died for me. Jondy. Cece. You were my brother. I should have protected you. I killed you. Again and again and again.  
Why me? I'm nothing. Death. Untouchable. A murderer. This is what I was meant to do. They made me wrong and nothing's right. Funny funny world. So many people. So many dead people.  
I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. But you're dead. You're all dead. You have to stay dead. Stop following me around. Leave me alone. Don't look at me. Not with those eyes. Forgive me, Ben. Forgive me. I didn't want to kill you. I had to do it. I had to. You told me to. I think. Didn't you? I can't remember. I'm sure I had to. It was the only way. I had to do it. Didn't I? Didn't I? _

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"Max!" yelled Alec, "come on out before I break the door down."  
Two minutes later.  
"I'm coming in now. Make sure you don't have any clothes on," shouted Alec just before he kicked the door in.  
It fell to the floor with an explosive thump.  
That's when he saw her. Naked, just like he had asked. Lying on the couch just waiting. But her eyes. Those big brown eyes that always glared at him, there was no spark. Just an empty blackness.  
"Oh God no, please no," someone was saying over and over. Alec bolted over the couch and took Max's pulse. He didn't feel anything. He ripped off his shirt and used it to stop the bleeding from the stomach wounds. Her phone was out of reach so he used his cell phone to call 911. "Hold on, Max. They'll be here soon," he promised. He put pressure on the largest hole in her stomach to stop the bleeding but the dark stains on the couch and the floor told another story. Too late, he remembered her fear the night before. The way he laughed it off when she said she was too afraid to sleep because she thought White was following her. He remembered that look on her face after he laughed and the way she stormed out of Crash. He remembered and hated himself.

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After the paramedics left with the bodybag, the scream of the fire alarm filled the building. The air was full of voices shouting and a loud thumping as people fought to get down the stairs before the fire. "White will die for this," he promised, watching the people gather below in the carpark. He turned to leave knowing that this was the only way. The gathering fumes made him cough as he left the room. He took one last look at the place where she died and lit a match. "For you Maxie", he whispered. The flickering match floated through the air lighting the shadows before it was extinguished. A fireball engulfed the room, hungrily eating at everything in reach. Everything. The couch, the tables, the refrigerator, her motorcycle. Everything. The blood, the knife, the gun. It licked at the blood-smeared envelope lying beside the couch. As the envelope crumpled down to ashes, the fading ink spelt out the name of the young man. The young man who was running down the stairs with an empty look on his face and death in his eyes. It was better this way.

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As this is my first story, reviews are definitely appreciated. 


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